Free The Beekeeper's Daughter by Santa Montefiore Page B

all right, Gracey?’
    ‘Yes, Dad. I think I’ll go upstairs now. I’m rather sleepy.’
    ‘Too much sun. That’s what it does to you, dries up all your energy.’
    She bent over him and kissed his cheek. ‘Night, Dad.’
    ‘God bless,’ he replied, patting her gently. ‘Sweet dreams.’
    A little later she knelt by her bed and prayed. She prayed for her father and for her mother who was in God’s keeping. She prayed for Freddie, Auntie May and Uncle Michael; for Freddie’s sister, Josephine, even though she didn’t like her very much, and she prayed for Rufus. Her prayer for Rufus went on and on. It was more like a confession than a prayer.
    When she climbed into bed she lay on her side, staring into the black-and-white photograph of her parents that she kept in a frame on her bedside table. Her mother had a long face, like hers, and deep-set hazel eyes, although one couldn’t tell the colour from the photograph. They just looked dark. She had a kind face. The sort of face one could trust to keep secrets. Grace was sure that, were she alive, she would listen to her daughter with understanding and indulgence, and Grace would tell her everything. She would sit on Grace’s bed and stroke her cheek and gaze at her lovingly. She might laugh at the absurdity of Grace’s infatuation, but she wouldn’t make her feel ashamed. She wouldn’t belittle it. Of course, nothing would ever come of a crush such as this. But there was no harm in admiring him. It made Grace happy to think that he was in the world. Happier still that he knew she was in it, too.
    So Grace whispered the contents of her heart to the one person she could trust to understand.

Chapter 6
    The following morning Grace was in the garden picking vegetables for lunch when the black Bentley rumbled onto the grass in front of the cottage. She stood up and wiped her hands on her apron. Her heart began to thump hard against her ribcage. Like a fist, it was, and her stomach felt as if it were full of bees. She put her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. To her surprise she saw the chauffeur climb out and walk towards her. ‘Miss Grace,’ he said. His tone was officious.
    ‘That’s me,’ she replied.
    ‘I’ve been sent by the Dowager Lady Penselwood. She requests your presence most urgently.’
    Grace felt sick. She envisaged all sorts of terrible things that might have happened as a consequence of the bee sting. Perhaps the old lady’s hand had swollen so badly that she was now in greater pain. She wished her father could come with her, but he was working in the gardens up at the Hall and there wasn’t time to find him. Why couldn’t someone have summoned him instead? After all, he was already there?
    ‘Does she want me to come now?’ It was a silly question, for clearly the lady demanded her presence immediately.
    ‘Most urgently, were her words, Miss Grace.’
    Grace hurried into the house to change out of her slacks into a frock, wash her hands and pin up her hair. As hard as she scrubbed she couldn’t shift the mud from beneath her nails. She wished she had a mother or a grandmother to go in her place. More than ever in her life she wished she wasn’t the woman of the house. When she emerged the chauffeur was holding the back door open for her. He looked solemn under his cap. For a fleeting moment she felt uplifted by the thought of Rufus and what he’d have to say about the chauffeur. She was sure he’d find his seriousness amusing.
    The motor car purred like a big cat. Grace watched the countryside whizz past, but she was much too nervous to take pleasure in the birds diving in and out of the hedgerows. At last they turned into the entrance of Walbridge Hall and passed smoothly through the grand iron gates. On either side, set high upon stone pedestals, were two statues of a lion and dragon, their faces frozen into mighty roars. Her fear mounted as the car swept up the gentle curve of the drive and the magnificent house came into